I Miss Chinese
by effulgentcolors
Summary: Emma misses Netflix and Chinese take-out. But there isn't any in the Enchanted Forest. Or is there?


There's a slight chance that Emma is not adjusting all that well to being back in the Enchanted Forest.

There's just something too definite, too permanent, too_ forever_ about returning to her parents' land for good. Of course, not too long ago she went and changed the past and not too long before that Killian outran a curse and crossed realms for her. So Emma has a newfound understanding of forever and impossible and all those words that seem absolute but are actually really, really not.

Even so, more often than not, it's all a bit too much for her. Everything just too damn _different_. The fairytale factor still, after everything, slapping her in the face and activating her desire to pinch herself.

And she is the fucking princess! She can only imagine how the rest of the ex-citizens of Storybrooke feel. Now that they will never know who dies next on Game of Thrones and what kind of shit goes down in The Avengers 2 and will there _finally_ be a Black Widow movie. That and not having running water or refrigerators and microwaves anymore.

(Emma's not sure which is worse. She has a pretty damn serious girl crush on Black Widow.)

The things that do not help are having Henry travelling between their castle and Regina's every second week, having her mother already planning their 'welcome home' ball and her and Ruby constantly bringing her new dresses in the hopes that she would actually keep one of them on for more than two hours.

What helps is having sword lessons with David and learning to ride a horse with Henry.

What helps the most is sharing all of that crap with Killian.

And she feels terribly selfish sometimes. Because something stops her from telling her parents that their castle is not exactly her definition of comfort and security or telling Henry that she doesn't want him to leave that week. But somehow she cannot seem to keep up her composed and reasonably bright I-practice-in-from-of-the-mirror-every-morning smile around Killian.

Not that he will buy it anyway.

Which is exactly what has them sitting on the grass in the deep recesses of the back gardens, feet splashing around in the small pond and shoulders bumping every so often. The moon is bright and the stars are innumerable, the breeze is chasing away the stuffiness that seems to envelop her whenever she spends the whole day behind closed doors and his body next to hers is practically radiating heat and relaxing her more and more with each passing minute.

She shivers slightly and he slips his coat around her shoulders without a word, his scent enveloping her and the feeling of comfort and security that she pretends to find in her bedchambers and the castle halls finally settles confidently around her. It's only then that she finally feels like she can whisper all her secrets into the night air and know that they will be safe in the space between them.

"I miss Netflix and Chinese take-out," she lets out on a sigh and follows it up with a self-deprecating snort.

Because _seriously_? Could she be any more ridiculous?

Killian doesn't laugh at her though. He doesn't crack a joke. He doesn't say anything at all actually. He just slips his arm around her and draws her a little closer and she eagerly scoots _even closer_ until she is almost in his lap and this time he does let out an amused chuckle.

She swats at his chest and tells him to shut up but later, when her feet are absolutely freezing and she can't really feel her backside anymore, she just goes ahead and literally moves in his lap.

* * *

She is so_ so_ mad at the stupid pirate that the castle feels too small to house her anger. And that thing is _big_.

He knows that she always feels especially lonely on the first day after Henry leaves for Regina's, no matter the amount of people greeting her with the exasperating _Your Highness_ (it just grates on her nerves when it's coming from anyone but Killian) and trying to make small talk. And with her taking the melancholy and neediness to a whole new level last night, she had thought that he would've gotten the message.

Apparently not.

After a light breakfast and a parting kiss when she was heading for her lesson with David Killian Jones is a no show for the rest of her now very fucked up day. And she knows she would be frustrated with how much she misses him, if she wasn't so busy actually _missing him_.

And so it's a very grumpy and not appropriately dressed Emma that makes her way to the dinner table. Mary-Margaret gives her jeans (the ones that were on her the day they came back, and_ boy_, is she glad she hadn't been wearing a skirt) a look but predictably swallows down her comment.

Emma is almost regretful of her mother's manners and consideration because she is itching to let it all out on somebody. Which David seems to have no difficulty sensing because he gives her a questioning look and puts on his best 'who do I have to kill' face. She would be amused if she wasn't convinced that she would need more than a 'he dared leave my side for half a day' to make him chop off his best mate's head.

Ugh. She is pathetic. This princess-y thing is really getting to her. But, hell, she is pretty damn comfortable with blaming it on Killian for spoiling her rotten. Like seriously? When was the last time he didn't have time for her?

It's only when she settles on the table and frowns at his empty chain that an absolutely horrible pang of guilt shots through her. Because what if something urgent had come up? What if something bad had happened? They were in the fucking Enchanted Forest, what if-

The door to the kitchens opens way louder than usual (she swears everyone who works in that kitchen and serves them dinner will make a excellent ninjas) and Killian Jones strides in.

Perfectly fine. Perfectly gorgeous. Perfectly pleased with himself.

He settles down in the chair next to her and Emma grits her teeth as she tries to conduct a quick inspection without him noticing. His hair is tousled, not in the artfully unintentional way she is used to or the afterglow way that she is quickly getting used to but in a way that tells her he has spent a good part of his day running his hand through it. His cheeks are flushed like he's been running around or working out or something else she can't quite picture. He smells of bread or maybe flour? She was never much of a cook but she is suddenly very determined to pinpoint what it is that's clinging to him and making her stomach all warm and tingly and dammit! She was mad at him!

One look at his self-satisfied grin helps her remember that very quickly.

She senses Granny placing plates on the table (and her ninja skills are the best of them all because Emma didn't even hear her approach, let alone enter the room) but she doesn't really care because determining what has been keeping Killian Jones occupied and away from her all day is her #1 goal right now and if she has to pry it out of him in front of the whole damn kingdom, she will.

"Interesting," the surprise and amusement in her father's voice though manages to snap her attention back to the table.

And to what has caused it.

The table is littered with a dozen plates and Emma frowns in confusion because after three months of living here she had thought that she was acquainted with all the dishes typical for the Enchanted Forest and she is pretty sure none of these qualify. And then, slowly, as she inspects the dishes one after another, it clicks. The rice is lighter than usual and the spaghetti is darker and thinner and the mushrooms are cut almost right and…

They're having Chinese.

It's like she has two halves of a puzzle all done and waiting and then she finally connects them and boom! Emma cannot breathe. And she definitely cannot turn around to look at Killian because – no.

And then Granny goes ahead and winks at where the pirate is sitting behind her and _fuck_.

"Well, that's… a bit unusual," her mother's look is almost identical to the one she gave her jeans just a few moments earlier.

But Emma is no longer itching for an argument so before Snow can say something that she would have to throw a plate of rice at her for, the blonde grabs her own plate and starts shoveling absolutely disgusting amounts of food on it. David laughs but soon follows her example and Snow just shakes her head with a half-amused, half-exasperated (but 100% fond) smile on her face and grabs the chicken.

Eventually she feels Killian reach over her for the spaghetti but does her best to not look at him because she is still reeling from the fact that the idiot went ahead and _made it happen._

She knows that it should stop surprising her but she also knows that it never will. No matter what, Emma will never get used to somebody caring _that much_. And she's glad. She never wants to take this for granted. Never wants to take him for granted.

* * *

Dinner lasts longer than usual but eventually, long after Snow, Granny and Ruby have excused themselves, even David and Emma cannot swallow down any more food. The prince excuses himself and actually stops to catch his breath and frown down at his abdomen after standing up. Killian and Emma chuckle and he shoots them a death glare which only seems to add to the pirate's merriment. But Emma manages to calm down, contemplating her own exit with a frown.

"Princess?" Killian is before her in a flash, extending his hand with a mischievious twinkle in his eye.

She doesn't even care. She is so full she'd probably let him carry her, if she didn't think that might do some permanent damage right now.

They slowly make their way to their pond and she knows that a walk is supposed to help but she is still beyond grateful when they plop down on the grass.

"That was a huge mistake on your part," she mutters as Killian settles next to her.

"Is that so?" he says, amusement colouring his deep voice.

"Well, no, not really," she concedes with a smile. "But only as long as you don't turn it into an everyday occurrence. Because then I'm pretty sure we'd need a bigger bed."

"You'd need a bigger bed, Swan. I am capable of showing restrain," he teases and accepts the inevitable punch to his shoulder with just a small wince.

"Is that how it is? I get a little fat and you jump ship?"

"Don't be daft!" he grumbles, pulling her closer. "A captain never_ jumps ship_. Especially one so beautiful. We will simply take to frequenting only your much much larger bed."

This time he manages to catch her fist before it makes contact so Emma settles for glaring up at him before realizing the grass is no longer all that comfortable.

"Ugh," she frowns, leaning on one side then turning back around.

"Do you wish to go back inside?"

She smiles despite her discomfort because sometimes his manners shine through so adorably she can't keep the giggles in.

It is obviously embarrass the proper lieutenant time, she thinks smugly as she twists around, lying on her back and dropping her head on his lap.

"Nope, I'm good," she says with a smirk, watching his eyes grow just a little bigger in the moonlight.

Ah, she loves how no matter what they do behind closed doors, PDA never fails to get Killian either unbearably hot and bother or adorably flustered.

It is obviously a flustered kind of day and it is making her insides even mushier than they already are.

"Thank you for dinner," she says softly because _it's about bloody time_.

"Most of the credit goes to Granny," he says. "Even though she did make me chop some carrots!"

"What?" Emma lets out an absolutely unrestrained burst of laughter, eyes watering as she pictures him in Granny's kitchen, muttering about being a fearsome pirate captain. "Why? I mean, _why_? She has so many people hired to help her. How did the captain of the Royal Navy get stuck chopping carrots?"

Killian rolls his eyes, giving her a look that clearly says 'don't I know it' and that only sends her into another fit of hysterics.

"Obviously," he drawls out sarcastically. "She saw it fit to show me how much I was complicating her life. Trying to discourage me from doing it again probably."

"Will you?"

"Most likely," he says with a grin. "You and Dave were bloody hilarious."

Emma gives him a look that says she's not buying this and his smile turns so affectionate that she swears her heart tries to burst right out of her and into his hand (that is busy combing gently through her hair).

"I made you happy," he says simply and pride literally radiates off him, making her body sink even deeper into his lap, while her stupid heart is floating away.

"You always make me happy," she whispers back, hand lifting to trace the path of his jawline and lips twitching at his dubious expression. "You also make me crazy and frustrated and excited and scared and content and annoyed and giddy and calm and horny and confident and brave and everything else. But you always make me happy. You know, just by… being."

She scrunches up her nose because she's not good at this and she just starts rambling a lot and she really should have just settled for thanks and started kissing him.

But Killian is smiling down at her like she is more stunning than all the stars above them (and there are really _a lot_ of stars here) and there's so much awe and love in his blue (she loves that blue in the moonlight… and in the sunlight and in the candle light of her room, _especially_ in the candlelight of her room) eyes and they are shining so bright that Emma thinks maybe she said the right thing this time.

And then his smile grows excited and bashful all at once and he's reaching into his coat pocket and handling her something soft and browning and _oh!_

It's a fortune cookie. And it's slightly burnt and way thicker than it should be but that proud sparkle is back in his eyes and she just knows he made them and her heart squeezes tight and the breath catches in her throat and her hand that's still caressing him, now tangled in his hair, tightens and pulls him closer because now she just _needs to kiss him_.

Her sweet adorable idiot.

They pull apart only because, full as she may be, nothing's gonna stop her from eating her cookie. And when she breaks it in half the little white piece of paper falls out and she remembers them doing that on the floor of her living room in Storybrooke. Her heart tightens again but it's not nearly as melancholic as she would have expected because she still has this. Still has him. And a fortune cookie. Only-

"It's blank," she frowns turning the paper over and over in her fingers.

Maybe he doesn't quite remember how this is done. And that's ok because she-

"So that you can write your own fortune," he says casually, as if it's the most logical thing in the world.

_God, she loves this man._

The product of True Love, the Savior, the princess. Emma is fortunate, to have a family and a home and so many friends and so much love, and she knows it. But she has never been able to pick her own fortune. Never been given the chance to write her own destiny.

Figures he would be the one to give that to her.

"What does yours say?" she asks curiously, part of her mind racing to come up with her own and the other part desperate to make it fit with his.

"Don't have one," he replies.

She lifts her eyebrows in surprise and he looks down, almost embarrassed by whatever it is he's about to say, and his hand leaves her hair for a second to scratch behind his ear, making her grin affectionately at him.

"I've already found my fortune," he finally says, his piercing eyes finding hers again and it's a good thing that she's lying down or they might have knocked her down at that moment. "Now I just have to keep it safe."

Emma stares at him, mouth slightly open, mind serenely blank for all of five seconds before everything rushes back in.

She has been so blind. She had picked her fortune alright. She had picked him.

She crumbles the paper in her hand, turning her head to the side to aim and throw it in the pond before she lifts herself off his lap and pushes him onto the fresh grass. His hair looks like it was made to be tangled among strands of green and in that moment she is convinced the moon itself was made to reflect in his eyes.

"Me too."


End file.
